He smiled. If she failed, she would die. Even if she succeeded, she would never be the same. No matter what happened to him, he had won something. At her age pain could be a powerful purgative for evil.
Still, he had to try to make the solution absolute. "Stand aside, Torfin. You can't beat me."
"I have to try. I love her, Tain."
"You're no good to her dead."
At the bottom of it, Torfin was Trolledyngjan. Like Tain, he could be nothing but what he was.
Trolledyngjans were stubborn, inflexible, and saw all settlements, finally, in terms of the stronger sword.
Torfin fell into a slight crouch, presenting his blade. He carried a dagger in his off hand, close to his body. Tain's previous opponents hadn't used that method.
"Torfin... ."
The youth shuffled closer. He swung his blade in a tentative figure eight.
Tain nodded, began murmuring the Battle Ritual. He had to relax, to give his reflexes complete control. Torfin was more skilled than his confederates. He was young and quick.
He shrieked and lunged.
Tain turned his rush in silence. The soldiers of Shinsan fought, and died, without a word or cry.
Their silence had unnerved men more experienced than Torfin.
Tain's cool, wordless competence told. Torfin retreated a step, then another and another. Sweat ran down his forehead.
Tain's shortsword flicked across and pinked Torfin's left hand. The dagger flew away. The youth had used the weapon cunningly, wickedly. Its neutralization had been Tain's immediate goal.
Torfin danced away, sucked his wound. He looked into faceted crystal and knew the old soldier had spoken the truth when claiming he couldn't be beaten.
Both glanced upward. Shirl's moans were fading.
Tain advanced, engaging with his longsword while forcing Torfin to give ground to the short.
Torfin reached the ladder to the ramparts. He scrambled up.
Tain pursued him mercilessly, despite the disadvantage. The youth was a natural swordsman. Even against two blades he kept his guard almost impenetrable.
Tain pushed. Torfin was relying on youth's stamina, hoping he would tire.
Tain wouldn't. He could still spend a day in his hot armor, matching blows with the enemy. He hadn't survived his legion years by yielding to fatigue.
Tain stepped onto the battlements. Torfin had lost his last advantage. Tain paused to glance at the Witch.
The blue ball had eaten half her arm. But she was getting the best of it. Only a few sparks still gnawed at her mutilated flesh.
She looked extremely young and vulnerable.
Torfin looked too.
Tain feinted with the longsword, struck with the short.
It was his best move.
Torfin's blade tumbled away into the courtyard. Blood stained both of his hands now.
He backed away quickly, seized a dagger his love carried at her waist.
Tain sighed, broke battle discipline. "Boy, you're just too stubborn." He sheathed his swords, discarded their harness. He removed his helmet, placed it between his blades.
He went to Torfin.
The youth scarred Tain's armor twice before the soldier took the dagger and arced it out into the grass of the Zemstvi.
Torfin still would not yield.
Tain kicked his feet from beneath him, laid the edge of one hand across the side of his neck.
Tain backed away, glanced down. Torfin's dagger had found a chink. Red oozed down the shiny ebony of his breastplate. A brutalized rib began aching.
He recovered his shortsword, went toward the Witch.
In seconds she would complete her conquest of his magick. In seconds she would be able to destroy him.
Yet he hesitated.
He considered her youth, her vulnerability, her beauty, and understood how she had captivated Torfin and the Baron.
She bleated plaintively, "Mother!"
Tain whirled.
Rula stepped onto the ramparts. "Tain. Don't. Please?"
Seconds fled.
Tain sheathed his blade.
Shirl sighed and gave up consciousness.
"Tain, I brought your things. And your mule." Rula pushed past him to her daughter.
"The wound is cauterized. I'll take care of the bone."
"You're wounded. Take care of yourself."
"It can wait."
He finished Shirl's arm ten minutes later. Then he removed his breastplate and let Rula tend to his injury. It was minor. The scar would become lost among its predecessors.
Rula finished. "You'd better go. The hunter...."
"You're staying?" An infinite sadness filled him as he drew his eyes from hers to scan the Zemstvi. Kai Ling was out there somewhere. He could sense nothing, but that had no meaning. His hunter would be more cunning than he. The trap might have closed already.
"She's my daughter. She needs me."
Sadly, Tain gathered his possessions and started for the ladder.
Torfin groaned.
Tain laid his things aside, knelt beside the youth. "Ah. She does have this stubborn ass, you know." He gathered his possessions again. This time he descended without pausing.
Soldiers of the Dread Empire seldom surrendered to their emotions.
He had a hand on Steban's shoulder, trying to think of some final word, when Rula came to him.
"Tain. I'll go."
He looked into her eyes. Yes, he thought. She would. Dared he?...
Sometimes a soldier did surrender. "Steban. Go find you and your mother some horses. Rula, get some things from the Tower. Food. Utensils. Clothes. Whatever you'll need. And hurry." He scanned the horizon.
Where was Kai Ling?
"Old friend, are you coming?" he whispered.
Not even the breeze responded. It giggled round the Tower as if the gathering of Death's daughters were a cosmic joke.
Their shadows scurried impatiently round the old stronghold.
They were a hundred yards along the road to nowhere.
"Tain!"
He whirled the gelding.
Torfin leaned on the battlements, right hand grasping his neck.
Then he raised the other. "Good luck, centurion."
Tain waved. He didn't reply. His ribs ached too much for shouting.
The day was dead. He set a night course for the last bit of sunlight. Rula rode to his left, Steban to his right. The mule plodded along behind, snapping at the tails of the newcomers.
He glanced back just once, to eye the destruction he had wrought. Death's daughters had descended to the feast. The corner of his mouth quirked downward.
His name was Tain, and he was still a man to beware.
XX
The wind of dark wings wakened Kai Ling. The daughters of Death circled close. One bold vulture had landed a few feet from his outstretched hand.
He moved.
The vulture took wing.
He rose slowly. Pain gnawed his nerve ends. He surveyed the stead, the smoking ruins, and understood. He had survived his mistake. He was a lucky man.
Slowly, slowly, he turned, feeling the twilight.
There. To the west. The centurion had called on the Power yet again.
"Tain, you always were more trouble than you're worth."
He remembered an incident with goldfish, when he had lied to a Tervola of the Council in order to keep Tain an eligible Aspirant. "More trouble than you're worth." Tain had resigned in favor of the legions two weeks after the prank.
Aching in every joint, the whole surface of his body stinging, Aspirant Kai Ling hiked toward the Tower.